


Bonds & Breakdowns.

by tacohashi



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clexa Week 2017, F/F, POV Second Person, clarke is a mess, day two: roommates, lexa is a leather jacket wearing law student, there's an anxiety attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 19:56:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10043642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tacohashi/pseuds/tacohashi
Summary: Clarke Griffin never knew bonding with her roommates would be easy if she had an emotional breakdown at three am.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is shitty and hurried but it's here. enjoy this mess.   
> if there are any spelling or grammar errors please let me know! english is not my first language and sometimes some stuff is still a little bit tough.

**griffin(11:29am):** _omg raven i can’t stand my roomie’s boringness why did u leave me_

**rae(11:32am):** _ listen octavia is a better roommate than ur lame artist ass _

**rae(11:32am):** _talk to her_

 **rae(11:33am):** _you two have been living together for like, two months and u only know her name._

 **griffin(11:35am):** _she’s intimidatingly hot AND a law student. i’m scared of talking to her :(_

 **griffin(11:37am):** _plus, she brings over friends and debates with them for fun. they’re all probably part of a gang. wearing leather and looking hot._

**griffin(11:37am):** _ it’s not fair for my tiny bisexual heart to see many hot people in leather at once  _

  


“Clarke?” Lexa, also known as your scarily hot and intimidating law student roommate knocked on your door, poking out her head so you could easily see the mess of braids and hair she has, and her bright green eyes. 

_   
_

You slam your phone against your desk, suddenly feeling guilty of talking about Lexa’s friend hotness when they wear leather. And her, she’s pretty hot too. “Yes, Lexa, roommate of mine?” You stutter out, feeling your ears get hotter as moments pass and she stares at you intensely. 

_   
_

“I’m going to go grocery shopping. Want to come with me?” She casually asks, like it was no big deal. Even though it _was_ a big deal, You've never spent more than ten minutes in the same room as her!  “You know, to bond and stuff. We've been roommates for a month or two and I only know your name and the fact that you're an artist.”

  


(At least she knew something important about you. You knew three things about her: that she is amazingly hot, she's a law student and she loves to wear leather jackets.) 

  


(And she's probably part of a gang, but that doesn't really matter. you've had worse roommates.) 

_   
_

“Sure! Yeah! Of course, I’ll go.” You nervously say, standing up too quickly for it to be normal, but it felt like your chair was as hot as your cheeks, even though it definitely wasn't true. 

_   
_

//

_   
_

“What's your favorite color?” She asked, dropping a box of boring looking cereal to the cart. 

_   
_

You scoff, placing a hand above your heart. “I’m an  _ artist  _ I  don't really have a favorite color,” You take two boxes of lucky charms–she insisted she was paying, so why not use it for your own good? and drop them in the cart. Lexa gives you a puzzled look, for both the cereal and your answer. “It’s like, if I asked you what your favorite law is! Or, or your favorite leather jacket–I know you wear a lot of them, I'm not blind. Do you see how ridiculous it sounds?” 

_   
_

(That last comment managed to make Lexa laugh, a tiny laugh so beautiful and reckless you mentally swore to always make her laugh when you could.) 

_   
_

“I don't have a favorite law. I like most of them.” She tilted her head, looking at you with softness and easiness you never expected from her. (She had tattoos and a confidence she carried herself with always, a deep death stare that could kill a man. Not a soft laugh and eyes that wrinkle when she smiles.) "Or a favorite leather jacket."

_   
_

“I  _ do  _ have a favorite leather jacket of yours.” You smile at her, she raises her eyebrow silently, “Y’know, the one with the patches and pins–the one you don't wear often, that one is my favorite.” 

_   
_

She pushes the cart towards the next aisle, a soft smile still present on her nice full lips. "Anya–my foster sister–gave it to me when I was accepted into law school. It's really special to me." 

  


(What are you doing, Clarke? Get your shit together and stop staring at her lips.) 

_   
_

“Okay, next question,” She says after a few seconds–minutes? of deep awkward silence, that mostly consisted of grabbing canned food and walking, “Why chose an art career when I've seen you treat one of your friends–the one that has the hots for Lincoln, kind of small and fierce– nosebleed like it's on big deal?” 

_   
_

You stop walking, taking a big breath, picking a bag of marshmallows and looking down at your feet while you walk again. 

_   
_

“My mom, she always wanted me to follow her steps and be a doctor like her. But my passion was always art, and anything related to that, since I remember.” You stop talking after your voice quivers, “But, my dad made me realize that's what I wanted to do. He always told me to follow my dreams and my passion, and make myself happy, not anyone else. He died a year before I started college.” 

_   
_

There's a soft,  _ lovely _ , hand in your shoulder as you both stop in front of the rice and pasta shelf. “I didn't know it was a bad question, I’m sorry, I shouldn't have asked.” She looks at you. Green, beautiful eyes staring at you, “I understand it probably was a bad time for you, your father sounds like he was an amazing man.” 

_   
_

“Lexa, he was the best man alive.” You sigh, she drops her gaze to the cart and wheels it, leaving you alone for a few seconds before you jog to catch her. 

_   
_

(No one but the empty halls and shelves stacked with food were present to see the raw moment, full feelings that were once shoved deep inside of you that both of you just shared.) 

  


//  


_   
_

Being waken up at three a.m is never fun. 

_   
_

The reason behind that being your mother, whom you haven't talked with since before the start of your first semester of college after she didn't tell you about your father's death is even  _ less _ fun. 

_   
_

“Clarke?” Her voice is still as soft as you remember it, always patient and loving. The way she says your name foreign after many years of not remembering how it sounded coming from her.

_   
_

“Yes, mom?” You groggily ask, still a little bit asleep, and ready to go back to the deep slumber you were in. You didn't have anything to do that day, except sleep.

_   
_

“Honey, are you coming home for your father’s death anniversary this year?” She asks, there are soft murmurs behind her voice, probably of _M_ _ arcus Kane.  _ or, your mother’s boyfriend. Which she started dating not even a year after your father died. 

_   
_

“N-no, I don’t think so. is it soon? I probably forgot about it. Too much work and stuff.” You quickly say, trying to hide the pain of forgetting your own father's death. After how hurt you were the first year, you swore to always go once a year to visit his grave. (even though you  _lied_ , and broke your promise.)

_   
_

She sighs into the phone, a full of disappointment sigh. The one you  _ always  _ dreaded as a kid. “Okay. it’s alright, I get it. Work can be though. Will you come in Christmas, at least?” 

_   
_

“Yes, probably. I'll try to be there by Christmas. Love you, bye.” You hang up, not wanting to listen to any other words she had to say. (Your heart beating all the way to your throat and pounding in your chest so hard it might break your ribs.) 

_   
_

(There's a dizziness in your head and you can't breathe, you can't breathe. _Y_ _ ou can't breathe _ .) 

_   
_

(Your hands, and your whole body shake, everything stops and the only thing you can focus on is your dad. And the disappointment in you mom's voice. And there are tears in your eyes;  _you can't breathe._ Your whole world feels like it's collapsing.)

_   
_

You clumsily and messily stand up from your bed after minutes–that felt like hours– pass and your heart calms down. You look around in your room for a glass of water or anything drinkable so you can take something for the throbbing headache already making the back of your eyes hurt. And because you've never been extremely lucky, there’s nothing you can drink in the mess that you call your room. 

_   
_

Somehow, your body numbly takes you to the kitchen, your mind not being able to process anything that was happening. Until a glass slips from your sweaty and shaky hands and shatters in front of your feet, making a  _ really loud  _ noise that hurts your brain; your mind quickly realizes what happened and brings you back to reality with a loud gasp, to your kitchen at three am on a Tuesday. 

_   
_

Lexa sleepily tumbles out of her room, clad only in running shorts and an oversized t-shirt. A pair of big, round glasses sitting at the bridge of her nose. (Her nose is crunched up and her eyebrows furrowed, she looks young and tired and beautiful.)

_   
_

“Is everything alright? Are you okay?” She asks, rubbing her eyes sleepily with a silent yawn. "What happened? I heard glass shattering." 

_   
_

“Yes, I’m fine. everything is fine.” Your voice betrays you and cracks, tears swelling in your eyes again. (You can't do anything right,not even drink water.) “Nothing happened, I'm okay. Just my clumsy hands.” You turn around looking for a broom to clean up, letting a few tears roll down your cheeks silently.

  


Lexa stops you and pulls you into a hug, wrapping her arms around your waist and dropping her chin in your shoulder. Your hands find their way to the back of her shirt. 

  


Your whole body shakes with sobs, while you cry your heart out. “My dad-I forgot. He’s dead, Lexa. Dead” are the only things you manage to croak out, sobbing and hiccuping.

  


She rubs her hand on your back, humming softly, “It's okay, you're okay. I sometimes forget important dates too.”

  


“It’s not okay! I forgot my own father’s death anniversary! In which world is that okay?” you protest, yawning with tiredness and sadness. “You should have heard my mom’s voice after I told her I forgot, she sounded so disappointed in me, Lexa. I haven’t seen her in more than four years.”

  


“Your mom can honestly suck your ass, there’s nothing wrong with forgetting something once in a while.” she says, and you realize her voice is sweet like honey and _so_ kind, not full of pity like everyone else’s is when you break down like this. “Do you want to go back to sleep?”

  


You nod, your arms still wrapped around her back, tightly grasping her shirt, tears still running down your cheeks and wetting her shirt.

  


“Alright, let's get you to bed. I’ll be there beside you if you wake up again, okay?” She says, cupping your cheeks with her hands and looking at you softly, something you could get used to.

  


You nod again and walk back towards your room, avoiding the shattered glass in the floor. 

  


(If you squinted, you could see a few pieces of your heart among the glass.)

  


//

Hours later, you wake up with arms wrapped tightly around your waist and lovely brown hair that isn't yours around your face.

  


(It's something you definitely could get used to with time.)

  


(And if all it took for you to bond with your roommate was a call from your mother and an emotional breakdown, you could have been be best friends months ago.)

**Author's Note:**

> if you want to, check out my tumblr: rudeamity.tumblr.com i'm sometimes cool.


End file.
